Wait For Me
by MiraMizu15
Summary: She has always waited for him; he has always found her. Even before death. Oneshot.


**This was inspired by an older story on this site. This is in no way taking from that one.**

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><p>Lying still, between the discarded carcasses, the discarded guns, and the discarded war, my beaten body tells me to go. It tells me to relinquish my hold on reality. It tells me my time is up. My heart asks me to wait anyway. My mind stays out of it. It has no part in this battle, this battle raged even after the cries of pain have become stale. This is a primal fight of warring desires, there is no place for analytical thought. I cling to life and my heart wins. I wait.<p>

Yet, I'm unsure what my heart calls to. Everything is dead in this world.

I watched my guardian fall to a bullet through the brain. He was never meant to be here, he was not a man of savagery. He was too gentle, too concerned with things one must forget in war. May heaven learn to love his music as much as I have.

I watched my best friend and his lover fall for each other. They were drafted here, forced here. Feliks died protecting Toris. May they finally bypass discrimination to be together in the place of no judgment.

I watched my charge's brother fall by the hand of his lover, who quickly followed suit, driven by despair. Their clumsy, complicated dance wasn't meant to work with their hands stained by blood, and they slipped from each others grasp. May they have forgiveness and happiness, for if one place could make Lovino happy it would be beside his lover in the place after death.

Then my charge fell. For once, without flying defeat in hand.

My almost-brother died fighting the army that killed his lover. A hundred to one. He was a warrior that had been given the taste of love. They will find happiness wherever they be. Feliciano will see to that.

The last person who means anything to me fell. ...Nem, I suppose never saw him fall. After all those years of screaming murder at each other, I never even got to watch his. I couldn't burn it into my brain and save his memory like I did with the others. My last memories. Morbid memories for a morbid war.

A single tear slips down my face. A tear for words never said, for touches never given, for dreams never realized in reality. Maybe... maybe he's still alive. Maybe he'll move onto something better. Isn't that what is supposed to happen after war? Someone is happy? One benefits from the sacrifice of thousands? He deserves to finally be happy. After all this time, perhaps he can have a life he wants. And maybe... if I can see him once more, I'll rest content. Maybe that's why I'm waiting. I've never been one to ignore my desires.

So I remain in the transient world. The sky steadily darkens, a shadow falling over my heart. It knows my body won't wait forever.

A lone vulture circles overhead, screaming for someone. Like me. I idly raise my arms to chase the vulture in its freedom. Or half freedom. Must it not cry for the dying every day? I cry for it in return, so maybe it will lengthen my vigil, calling upon my last love to see me once more.

Still, the field remains dark and empty, a lone reminder of the blood spilt, of the lives wasted, of the dreams lost. This land is stained with death. Empty save for the lost souls. In their silence I hear their mourning, and the sound shall never leave this place in peace.

I shall simply sleep now and join them. He is not coming and that's all right. Perhaps I will still see him one day. If a place after death exists.

I let my heavy eyelids shut, and the throbbing melody of my wound begins to lull me, until foot falls awaken my last energy. I blink quietly, wondering if my heart beat can be heard in the silence of death surrounding us. Or maybe the stranger's heart beats out all others. Mine is so weak after all. I stretch out my fingers, my brain finally having a say and begging for life. My body knows it's time, my heart recognizes defeat, so my brain takes action. My fingers brush the sky, where my guardian still circles, and the footsteps run toward me.

"Who are you?" someone shouts anxiously, brushing the hair away from my face. I can barely make out the outline of his profile, even in the bright evening light.

"Lieutenant Elizaveta H-..."

"Héderváry. You're Elizaveta Héderváry?" the voice says urgently.

"Igen," I murmur. My hand thumps against the bodies below me. I am so tired.

"Non! Non! Hold on!" He turns away, and starts screaming. Everything is so hazy. "Gilbert! Gilbert! She's here!"

Why does he scream that?

Another person appears, grime and blood marring their beautiful face. His pearly hair is hidden beneath his army helmet, but his red eyes burn through, full of pain and sorrow and the knowledge of the coming loneliness. He was always a good soldier. Of course he lives. How foolish of me.

A small grin crosses my features.

"Liz?"

"It's... good... t-to see you again," I cough, feeling the blood spilling between my ribs as my body shakes. My lung won't last.

He recognizes the touch of death. "Oh fucking Gott, nein! Nein, nein you can't die Liz. Please nein. Don't leave me, she-man. I'm so sorry. I should have found you, I should have looked harder, I should have come sooner! I should have... I should..," he trails off when his voice breaks.

"Nem, you fool. N-nothing would have s-stopped this."

"I could have. I fucking could have! I _should _have."

"So stupid. I sacrificed myself fo-for what I love."

"Please," he whispers. He crashes to the ground beside me, reaching for the bullet wound lodged in my ribs. Careful fingers probe the tissue-paper flesh. "We can save you, Liz. Let us save you!" he screams. "Don't leave me too."

The other man, Francis, looks miserable.

"Nem, Gil. You can't save me. I think I have seconds, if that. Go-" coughing interrupts me, and the faintest splattering of red joins it against my ashen palm, "For me. Please. I just wanted to see you again. Now I'm happy," I whisper as Gil begins to blur around the edges.

"NEIN!" he yells, wrapping his arms around me and lifting me up. The sky is so much closer. My vulture lets forth a mournful cry. I stretch my fingers towards them, both of them. Gilbert grabs my hand and holds it to his cheek. I can feel the tears as he rocks me back and forth. He leans down, so close to me, and I'm reminded of care free days in the mud, of days of youth, of ignorant times of entangled bodies, of battles that weren't battles. I'm reminded as the memories pour through, catching for a moment on my concentration, before slipping away again.

"I love you," I murmur.

The space, the fragile space between us is breached. His lips are _perfect_. If only my eyes would allow me the vision of his beautiful face, but everything is slipping, falling, and tumbling through open space. My grip on his hand slackens, and he brushes our noses together.

"Ich liebe dich augen, Elizaveta Héderváry. You are the most beautiful woman in the world," his voice wavers with barely concealed anguish. "Wait for me," he finally growls.

I smile. "Of course."

I glance one last time at my vulture, circling the moon, and in the haze he looks something like a great black eagle. Then, swiftly, he transforms into a lone silhouette. The man extends to me his tapered fingers, musician's fingers, I realize. I reach for them, and everything disappears, with the lone, broken howl of my earth-bound other half.

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><p><strong>Thank you all for reading. This was simply a oneshot. I own not Hetalia, nor did I wish to take any ideas from the other story. <strong>


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